Chapter FIVE
Ben
Twelve Days to Christmas Eve
Ava is almost levitating with excitement when I pick her up from school at lunchtime on Friday before we embark on our first party-planning journey to Ballyheaney House.
She has already taken off her school tie by the time she gets into the car, chatting ten to the dozen.
‘Careful Roly doesn’t jump out!’
I remind her, but she’s an expert at manoeuvring our ten-year-old canine friend by now.
‘He seems very excited to be on a road trip, but we’ll have to stop at all the usual places to let him stretch his legs.’
‘And pee, Dad,’
says Ava, leaning in to pet his furry face.
‘We don’t want any accidents on the new leather seats, do we, Roly? Dad would go mental, wouldn’t he?’
I’m not sure I’ve heard such joy in her voice or seen such a grin on her face since we won Meet and Greet tickets to see some cool indie band she was into a few months ago. Apparently, they’re alread.
‘so last year’, but at the time she was like the cat that had got the cream.
‘It’s one-thirty now,’
I say out loud.
‘I want to get to Ballyheaney House in daylight if possible so I can check over as much as I can before we leave again tomorrow. But next weekend, I’ll be driving there after school finishes, and we’ll stay for Christmas.’
My daughter is barely listening to my terms and conditions, nor does she care that we only have two weekends to plan this whole thing.
In her twelve-year-old mind, I imagine all she cares about at this very moment is that school’s out early and that I did indeed bring her phone charger, her iPad and the bag of clothes she packed meticulously last night with enough to last a full week, never mind a quick one-night visit up north.
As I drive with the company of Taylor Swift and my daughter singing at the top of her voice, with intermittent howls from Roly in the back seat, I want to shake myself for not thinking of this earlier.
I don’t mean this unexpected party plan.
I mean, how did I miss the joy going to Ballyheaney House brings to my daughter? Or what it brings to myself, for that matter? But then, we do live almost three hours away. I have the major issue of a veterinary business to keep going, which I already feel I’ve been neglecting, and Ava has school Monday to Friday and activities on most weekends, so it’s not like we can pack up and go on a whim very often.
‘I wish there was still a pony at Ballyheaney House,’
Ava announces as we drive across the Mary McAleese Boyne Valley bridge at the medieval town of Drogheda. I’ve always felt a rush of excitement when I cross this famous bridge, ever since I was old enough to drive rather than get the bus or a train home from boarding school.
‘Did you know, Dad, that the last pony was called Little Eve because of the day she was born? Uncle Eric said she was the most beautiful foal he’d ever seen.’
Hearing my young daughter speak with such familiarity of what went on at my family home long before she came along almost takes my breath away. She sounds so much more invested than I’ve ever noticed before. Have I really been so distracted to know she was interested?
‘Yes, Little Eve was a beautiful foal and an even more beautiful mare,’
I agree, feeling the tug of nostalgia once more. To be honest, it hasn’t really gone away since I agreed to go ahead with my sister’s crazy suggestion. Old memories have been flooding my mind like a tsunami morning, noon and night since our first phone call about it on Monday.
‘Uncle Eric says you delivered Little Eve when you were only seventeen,’
says Ava over the sound of a Taylor ballad.
‘You never told me about that!’
My eyes widen as I search for a response.
‘Maybe because I do that type of thing now for a living, I never thought to,’
I say, doing my best to explain.
‘though I must admit it was very special when it happened.’
My eyes mist over at the memory. It was more than special. I do my best to focus on the road ahead as the events of yesteryear come back to me like I’m watching an old movie. It was a day I’ll remember for the rest of my life, because in that moment I knew I was falling in love for the very first time. I also remember the grip of fear, knowing Lou and I were destined for heartache. I also knew that I’d never forget her, no matter how much I tried.
I can still smell Lou’s perfume when she turned up at the party that day. It was a clean, crisp, citrus scent, but it’s her touch I remember the most. The way her hand fitted into mine, the way she laid her head on my shoulder in the stable even before we’d kissed.
We fitted. We just fitted.
‘Is that when you decided to become a vet, Dad?’
‘Sorry?’
I turn the music down a little.
‘When you delivered the baby foal?’
she says.
‘Is that when you knew you wanted to be a vet?’
I’m very glad that Ava’s questions are getting me back on the right train of thought.
‘I think I knew I wanted to be a vet before then,’
I tell her, fully back in the moment.
‘One of my favourite things about being at home in Ballyheaney House was looking after the animals.’
She shifts in her seat. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, we had horses,’
I explain.
‘but we also had three dogs, some very cheeky ducks, some chickens, and a flock of sheep who grazed down by Lough Beg. Your grandma even had a prized peacock called Cleopatra who was poached one winter morning. It broke her heart into pieces.’
I shudder, realising I’ve just unlocked a memory about the peacock and how much my mother loved her. I don’t think I’d ever really seen her cry until the day Cleo was taken, and it frightened me to see her so upset.
‘Did she ever get another one?’
Ava asks me.
‘Poor Grandma. I don’t think I’ve seen a real peacock before, but I’d love to.’
‘Sadly no, she never did get another one, but Cleo left her mark on all of us,’
I reply, trying not to giggle as I recall how Cordelia used to bring the peacock into the drawing room while she studied during the school holidays.
‘She used to greet me at the very front gate when I got home from boarding school. I always wondered how she knew I’d be back, but she did.’
Ava turns down the music a little more. This could be a Christmas miracle already. I don’t think I’ve had her full attention like this for a very long time.
‘Why on earth did she call her Cleopatra?’
she laughs.
‘That’s a bit of a random name for a peacock.’
‘After Alexander the Great,’
I say, delighted with myself for remembering this all now.
‘He was a famous king of Macedonia who loved peacocks so much, he banned anyone from killing them. His sister was called Cleopatra. Mum always said she’d have loved a male peacock to name Alexander to bring more beauty to Ballyheaney.’
‘But she never got another one?’
I let out a sigh.
‘Sadly not, Ava,’
I reply, silently acknowledging how I’d been so caught up in my own life then, I’d hardly thought of looking after my mother’s interests.
‘I sometimes wish she had.’
Ava is all ears. I’d forgotten how much bonding we can do when driving somewhere together. At home, we tend to exist alongside each other, with too many distractions on our devices to have a regular, proper conversation.
‘I love hearing your stories about Ballyheaney House,’
she says, and when I glance at her, I see a sense of contentment on her beautiful face that I haven’t seen in ages.
‘Tell me all about when you delivered the baby foal on Christmas Eve, Dad. You’ve never told me before, but I think that will be my favourite story of them all.’
‘Of course I will,’
I say with pride, but my mind goes blank, and I find myself starting and stopping. No matter where I go in my mind, I can’t seem to find the words because the whole event is blurred with memories of Lou.
‘Erm, well … let me see. It was such a busy day,’
I begin at last, knowing I’m on a road to nowhere because no matter how I try to recall the day in question, all I can see is her. The way she wore her dark, wavy hair round her shoulders. Her fingerless gloves. Her pink duffel coat and chunky boots.
‘Cordelia was busy in the kitchen helping the chef to make all sorts of delights for our guests. Gosh, she was only fourteen years old and already she was stunning us all with her cooking skills. I think you take after her in that way, Ava. She was so creative. She still is.’
Ava looks at me, puzzled.
‘And the baby foal?’
she says, waving her hand in a bid for me to get to the point.
‘Oh, yes, well, soon all the guests arrived,’
I mumble.
‘and things were up and running, so I thought I’d take a break by going for a walk in the gardens, even though it was so cold outside. It was a white Christmas that year, so the snow was thick on the ground.’
‘And the baby foal?’
‘I must have had some sort of instinct that Sally was about to foal,’
I say.
‘even though we’d predicted the birth would be the following week. So anyhow, I knew I would probably be missed back at the house. You’ll see for yourself how much work it takes at these parties. You’ll be given all sorts of jobs from serving drinks, to clearing tables to … erm … and then … well, then …’
Ava reaches across and turns up the volume again.
‘Oh, Dad.’
‘What?’
‘I think I’m going to ask you some other time to tell me about it, because it seems you’ve either lost your memory or else you’ve become really boring and bad at telling stories. Uncle Eric is the best. He remembers everything.’
I couldn’t be more delighted at th.
‘get out of jail’
card I’ve just been presented with.
‘I was just warming up and setting the scene, but fair enough,’
I tell my daughter, but she is having none of it.
‘I was giving you a back story. Doesn’t Uncle Eric waffle on more than I do when he tells stories? I hope so.’
‘Your turn for music,’
she tells me, scrolling through her Spotify app again.
‘And please don’t say any of that weird nineties dance music.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my nineties dance music!’
‘There are a few good tunes, but you play them way too often,’
she tells me.
‘Can we have some AC/DC instead?’
‘Oi, what happened to it being my turn?’
I ask her, loving how giggly she is as she scrolls to find a song that we’ll both like.
‘I think we’ll stop soon to stretch our legs and have a warm drink. What do you say?’
We both drum with our hands as the opening sounds of AC/DC’.
‘Thunderstruck’
blasts through the car’s sound system, while Roly howls along from the back seat.
‘Yes, and you can use that time to jog your memory about the day you helped birth Little Eve,’
Ava shouts over the music.
‘No setting the scene needed. Just cut to the chase. I want to hear all about it.’
‘Sure,’
I reply, as pictures of Lou’s beautiful face fill my mind once again. They play out in slow motion, in flashbacks of the years that led to the biggest turning point of my life. Christmas Eve after Christmas Eve after Christmas Eve until there were no more.
The signs for my home village at this time of year warm my soul in a way I wasn’t expecting, like a quiet anticipation running through my veins. This hasn’t happened since I was a boy.
Three miles from the Castledawson bypass, then two miles, then one mile, then none.
‘When were we last back here?’
I ask Ava, almost embarrassed to hear the hard truth.
‘Was it October?’
‘Well, I wanted to come here in October for my birthday,’
she reminds me.
‘But you and Matt had to go to that conference in London, so I had to stay with Vic and the boys. That was so unnecessary.’
I roll my eyes at her indignation. Ava has grown up with Matt and Vic’s family. They’re the closest things to siblings she’ll ever have, yet she pretends the boys annoy her a lot more than they do from what I can see.
‘And I was here in the summer for a weekend with Cordelia while you went to Spain to stay in her apartment for some time out,’
Ava continues. She really does have a much sharper memory than I do.
‘That was so much fun. We went swimming in the lough. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.’
‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it,’
I say as the village I once called home comes into view. The first thing I notice in the near distance is the lofty spire of St Tida’s Church.
‘But when was I last here? I suppose that’s what I’m trying to figure out. We’ve had Grandma and Uncle Eric down to stay a few times, but when did I last come to Ballyheaney House?’
‘Easter,’
Ava says straight away.
‘Remember, we came here at Easter for Grandma’s birthday, but it turned out to be a disaster because Uncle Eric fell in the courtyard, and you had to take him to hospital. That was so scary.’
I nod my head and shiver as I figure out that I haven’t visited here in eight months. How can time pass so quickly? How could I have let it go this long?
‘He was a lucky boy,’
I recall, remembering how I had to almost bribe my dear uncle to have his shoulder X-rayed when he slipped on some moss.
‘I hired in some groundsmen after that to give the courtyard a good blasting, but it should have been done earlier.’
I let out a sigh, much louder than I intended to. Cordelia and I really do need to talk about Ballyheaney House and its future before the place crumbles around Mum and Uncle Eric.
We drive into the village and pass the Seamus Heaney HomePlace, a proud homage to our Nobel Prize-winning poet. Then comes The Taphouse Bar, where I once sneaked out to meet Lou for an afternoon pint when I was supposed to be mucking out the stable; Doc’s Bar, where Lou and I would put party plans in place by the fire over Guinness, red wine and salted peanuts; and the aptly named Poet’s Corner café, which I remember doing a mean cappuccino.
‘You’re not superhuman, Dad,’
Ava tells me.
‘What?’
I reply.
‘Well, I know I’m not superhuman, but what do you mean?’
‘I mean, you can’t be there for everyone all the time,’
she says.
‘Oh, look! Can you please slow way down, Dad? I want to see the Christmas tree up close. Isn’t it pretty? I think this is even nicer than the ones in Dublin.’
I fear my daughter may be ever so slightly exaggerating.
‘Stop, Dad,’
she says.
‘Please. I need to take a photo.’
I slow down to a stop to let Ava take some pictures of the village Christmas tree with her iPad. What a difference a few days can make in this wonderful world of lone-parenting a bereaved child.
‘Freya is going to be well impressed,’
she says as she clicks and zooms with expertise.
‘Maybe she could come here with us sometime. Could she? I’d love for her to see the cows, and the swans on the lough. I don’t think Freya has ever seen a swan.’
‘In summer, yes, of course she can,’
I say to Ava, making a promise to myself as well as to my daughter.
‘We’ll make a point of coming here more often if that’s what you’d like to do, and you can bring a friend, no problem. Now, let’s move on as Grandma will be watching out for us coming.’
Ava clambers into the front seat again and I’m just about to turn off towards Ballyheaney House when I notice a striking new shopfront on Castle Street. It says Buds and Beans on the sign above a generous-sized window that’s dressed like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Not around here, anyhow.
A tall and tasteful old-fashioned Father Christmas stands in the middle of the window, surrounded by reindeer and tiny white lights, but what makes it burst with colour and class is the array of fresh flowers in reds, greens and golds. Whoever put this all together could give the company I paid a fortune to in Dublin a run for its money. It’s quirky, it’s clever and it adds so much warmth and character to the street.
‘Look at this cute little nook! Let’s get Grandma some flowers,’
I suggest, bringing the car to a stop at the kerbside.
‘I think that would be a nice gesture. Gosh, this place looks so pretty, doesn’t it, Ava? It’s something different, that’s for sure.’
Ava, as always, is a few steps ahead of me.
‘Yes, me and Cordelia got the best hot chocolate here in the summer,’
she says, her eyes dancing with excitement.
‘It’s a florist’s and a coffee shop, Dad. The little old lady who works there didn’t really know how to make hot chocolate, but I taught her how. It was so funny. She even gave me an extra flake and said I’d taught her something new, and that her granddaughter, the real owner, would be so impressed. Dad, she was like eighty or something but so cool. We had such a good laugh.’
I’m intrigued even more now. Whoever this lady is, she has more taste than I’ve seen in all my time living close to Dublin city. It’s almost giving me American vibes with its lush greenery and soft twinkling lights that make the interior glow.
‘Well, now you can test her out again,’
I say to Ava.
‘Let’s go inside and see if she remembers you. I quite fancy a hot chocolate now that you’ve mentioned it, but I’ll pass on the flake. I’ll save all that extra chocolate for Christmas Day.’
I take a moment to look more carefully at the window dressing as a light dusting of snow falls on to my shoulders. I button up my coat and pull my scarf close, glad to have put them on when I got out of the car, and admire once more the spectacular winter wonderland in front of me. Tall vases hold long-stalked trumpet-shaped flowers I don’t know the name of, but their elegance draws me in, as does the huge holly wreath decorated in silver, gold and red ribbon.
Ava is already inside, no doubt charming her old friend while reminding her of that day in the summer when she taught her everything she knows about hot chocolate.
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to get in the way,’
I mutter, when one of the staff comes outside to rearrange some pots that hold miniature Christmas trees. She hunkers down and I can see from the side of my eye how she checks the lights on each little tree with such care and attention before switching them on.
‘No, honestly, you’re fine,’
she mumbles in a local accent which is casually transatlantic.
‘I can work around you.’
‘I can move,’
I say, stepping aside to the left.
‘But if you don’t mind me saying so, this window display is something else. If this is anything to go by, I can only imagine what’s on the other side.’
She sounds a little out of breath.
‘Oh, thank you. That’s very kind. It’s a labour of love, that’s for sure,’
she says. I hear her wipe her hands repeatedly on her apron as she stands up behind me. I can see her reflection in the window now.
‘Six months of hard graft but I’ve loved every minute of it. Well, most of it. You’re very welcome to have a look inside.’
A shiver runs through me. There are goosebumps on my neck that are the size of golf balls and it’s nothing to do with the cold and the snow. Her wavy, dark hair is slightly shorter than it used to be, and it’s partly covered with a red headscarf tied at the top. I can’t see her face clearly, but I’d recognise that voice anywhere, even if the accent has slightly changed.
No one else might notice that detail, but I do. Only because I once knew that voice so well.
‘I guess I took a little bit of a long career in New York interiors with me and used it to my advantage,’
she tells me.
‘I used to work in a—’
I can’t wait any longer. I turn around slowly to face her.
She doesn’t finish her sentence. Our eyes lock for the first time in more years than I can count right now.
She takes a step back and her hands go up to the sweet face I used to know every inch of. A face I kissed a thousand times. A face I never tired of thinking of. A face I once thought I’d look at for the rest of my life.
My voice cracks as I take in the sight of her and it hits my heart like a bullet.
‘Lou, it’s me.’